All
of the followers had gone, sucked into the girl’s funnel cloud and carried
off to god knew where. What remained lay
on the ground, broken. The restaurant
would not be serving again.
I
was wondering where Marietta had gone when a dishevelled figure with a lopsided purple hairdo and an old face limped over to me. We stood and looked at each other for a
while, before she said, “You think you’ve won. But the spell is broken for you, too.”
“I
know,” I answered. “But at least I can
live with myself.”
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